Bonnie and Clyde
by SoulfulSam
Summary: "I always thought of us more as a Butch and Sundance kinda deal." Sam and Dean talk about what Hendrickson meant when he called Sam "Bonnie to Dean's Clyde." Wincest.


This takes place right after "Nightshifter" in season 2. Enjoy!

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When the Impala pulled away from the parking garage in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and sped at top speed down the Interstate, Dean's last words still hung in the air; _we are so screwed_. They were wanted dead or alive now by the FBI, something they'd never counted on and that they were unequipped to handle. Not even their dad, who had pulled off some major jobs that had racked up the body count in some states, had managed to be as wanted as they were now. But, then again, he was better than them at hunting, too; no way would he have gotten as sloppy as they had on that last case. Anyone could have seen that that Ronald Reznick guy was only a missed dose of anti-psychotic medication and a bottle of liquor away from trying to chase after that shifter himself. Dad would have kept Reznick under control and then done the job himself, quick and easy. Sam looked out the window and planned their next few moves for the next 24 hours. A few years ago, they'd helped out a guy who owned a notary over in Ohio with a vengeful ghost torturing his family; they should probably head there first to switch their plates. He turned his head from the window and over to Dean to suggest they switch highways and head east, but quickly forgot his thought when he saw his brother already shifting his eyes over to him and smirking.

"What?"

Dean turned to look at him full in the face and his lower jaw trembled for a moment before he burst out laughing. "Sammy."

Sam quirked an eyebrow, not sure if he should prepare himself to be amused at his brother's humor or concerned that the recent stress had finally made him crack. "What? What's so funny?"

Dean shook his head. "Agent Hendrickson, when he was talking to me on the phone –"

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"He –" Dean broke off mid-sentence to let out a little chuckle, "he called you Bonnie to my Clyde."

Sam's jaw dropped. "He _what_? Why would he make that reference?"

"Yeah, I don't know; I always saw us as more of a Butch and Sundance kinda deal, ya know?"

Dean was still chuckling, but for the life of him, Sam couldn't figure out why – there was nothing funny about the implications of Hendrickson's comparison. "Do you – do you think he knows about…us?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. Probably. When I talked to him, he seemed to have done his research on us and our family. I'll bet someone, somewhere along the line of all the people he's interviewed told him something. I mean, we haven't exactly been able to keep it a secret from everyone this whole time."

Shit. Sam just couldn't _wait_ to see _that_ written in their files. It wasn't like they didn't have enough trouble as it was; the last time they were arrested, when they were hunting that death omen Claire, the cop who'd interrogated Dean had really laid into him just based on _suspicions_ he'd had about their relationship, without having any cold hard facts about it to rely on. Dean had told him about it later and how he even knew at the time that the cop was trying to provoke him to attack and so he'd just sat there done nothing, but Sam imagined it must have been hard for him. The cop had gotten in Dean's face and called him a faggot, then made up a series of long stories about the two of them, punctuating every few sentences with "Isn't that right?": they'd probably started fucking as children; their dad probably asked them to while he watched and touched himself; he probably wanted to go over to the other interview room and pound Sam's ass in front of the camera. Sam had no idea how Dean managed to keep his head level when that happened. That cop was a sick murderer and probably a bad example, Sam knew, but still, now if they got arrested in a conservative area and the local cops ever read their file and knew for sure about what they were doing, harassment might not even be the worst of what they'd do.

Sam groaned and rested the back of his head against the seat. "Great, just what he need."

Dean shrugged dismissively. "Whatever. Point is, Sammy, at least they know who the woman is in our relationship, Bonnie."

Sam raised his head from the seat and shot Dean and indignant look. "What? I'm not Bonnie; you are."

"No, I'm Clyde; you're a woman who does what I want."

"Just last night –" He shut his mouth and looked away. Dean was just goading him; there was no heat behind it and Sam knew better than to bring up certain aspects of their relationship, especially if he didn't want them to change.

The smile faded a little from Dean's face and even thought it kept most of its cocky swagger, Sam could see in his eyes that he'd instantly gone into defensive mode. "You were not going to bring up that I bottomed last night."

"No. Besides, that doesn't mean anything." Smooth Sam, real smooth.

"You're damn right it doesn't. Besides, I do that for you."

Sam couldn't help it; he smirked. "Yeah?"

Images from last night flooded his mind – Dean on his knees, grabbing the headboard, letting out low grunts of pleasure and begging to be taken harder, deeper, rougher, before his legs trembled and almost gave way and Sam felt his hand being coated in hot, thick, slick and sticky fluid. And then just a few minutes later when he had Dean on his back, his arms and legs tightly wrapped around him and his head thrown back and mouth wide open in ecstasy, the evidence his second orgasm had shot from his body in weaker pulses, but Sam felt Dean's whole body shutter underneath him. Yeah, Dean was making a real sacrifice when he bottomed, alright.

The full smirk had returned to Dean's face. "That's right. Because, in case you haven't noticed, everyone wants a piece of this sweet ass. You're lucky I let you have it."

"Well…" Sam shamelessly ran his eyes up Dean's body, from his tones thighs, up his flat stomach, to the muscular outline of his biceps, sweeping up his neck, up the squared, rugged line of his jaw, past his full lips, and to his eyes that were entirely too pretty to belong to a man. He slid across the seat, put a hand on the inside of Dean's thigh, and laid a kiss on the side of his neck. "I think I earn it."

Dean shifted his legs a little further apart and licked his lips. "Earn it?"

"Yeah; I have to put up with you for eight hours in a car every day."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, and like you're always a joy to be around."

Sam slid his hand to the top of Dean's thigh and then lightly nipped his ear. He could see the outline of Dean's growing length through his pants. He lightly massaged the head with his fingers. "And what about now?"

Dean shifted his hips forward. "Now I think we've got about 600 more miles to put between us and Milwaukee before we can even think about doing what I think you're doing."

"You're right." Sam's hand slowly slid from Dean's groin and up to the zipper, which be began to bring down tooth by tooth. "But that doesn't mean I can't play with you the whole way. I want a piece of that sweet ass of yours again tonight."

Dean grinned. "You're lucky I'm a giver, Sam, you really are."

Sam chucked and licked the shell of Dean's ear. "Yeah; maybe I am."


End file.
